The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  He straightened and turned to face her square on. “Would you mind if I spoke to you straight out, Rebecca?” he said.

  Her eyes danced mischievously. “I would find that most refreshing, Mr. Ingalls.”

  “Then I’ll say what’s on my mind.” He gulped, a little abashed by his brazenness. “I don’t think it was happenstance that Peter and I came to America.”

  The mischief in Rebecca’s eyes faded.

  “I don’t think comin’ to Kirtland and meetin’ your family was happenstance either,” he went on. “I feel strongly that the Lord had a hand in all of it.”

  “I would agree with that,” Rebecca said quietly, watching him very closely now.

  “Whether it was happenstance or not,” he rushed on, “I know that since I first met you that day on the doorstep in Kirtland you’ve been on my mind a great deal, Miss Rebecca Steed.”

  “I have?” she said softly, her eyes shining now with something that made him glow with hope.

  “Yes, you have. And whilst I seem to keep leavin’ your presence over and over, I still find myself thinkin’ about little else other than you.” Now his countenance fell. “And yet when I do, I can’t believe there’s any chance you could be havin’ any of those same feelings. I look at how lovely you are. You are poised and clever and witty, and I’m dull and—”

  She reached up and put a hand over his mouth quickly; then, embarrassed by her boldness, she stepped back. “Don’t, Derek. Please don’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But that’s how I feel when I’m around you.”

  She moved a step closer to him again and waited until he looked up to meet her eyes. “And what would you say if I told you I have had those same feelings? That I think about you all the time? That I was very sad when you went to Di-Ahman, because it meant I would not get to see you often?”

  He stared at her in wonder. “I would say that was a very difficult thing for me to believe.”

  “Only because you’re such a stubborn Englishman,” she shot back.

  He caught his breath, a little dazed. “Then, if that were the case, I would tell this lovely, witty, clever girl what was on my mind.”

  “I think that would be an excellent idea.”

  “I would tell her that by next spring I will have five or six acres of land cleared, plowed, and in seed. I will have a home built—not a fancy one, but big enough to see it through a few winters safely. I would tell her that I then plan to buy myself a set of Sunday-best clothes and come on down to Far West.”

  “For what purpose?” she asked in a half whisper.

  “To go before one Benjamin Steed, Esquire, and to ask for the hand of his daughter in marriage.”

  She was smiling shyly now. “And if he agreed?”

  “Then I would come to that daughter and ask her if she would be willing to accept an unlearned, unschooled, stubborn, mule-headed Englishman for her husband.”

  Rebecca turned back and leaned on the fence. “I think the answer to that question would be no.”

  His mouth dropped, and there was instant bafflement in his eyes.

  “If he were to ask if she would accept a wise, gentle, serious-minded, hardworking Englishman who has a wonderful way with words—and who is just a tiny little bit stubborn—then I would guess that daughter just might say yes,” she said.

  The dismay had turned to incredulousness. “Really?” he cried.

  She smiled shyly at him. “I couldn’t be absolutely positive, but I think the chances are really quite excellent.”

  * * *

  “Grandpa! Grandpa!”

  Benjamin looked up from his shoveling. Young Joshua was coming across the field on the dead run, waving his arms.

  Matthew was in the shallow trench they were digging to serve as the foundation for their smokehouse. He straightened, squinting against the afternoon sunshine, and watched as Joshua came sliding to a halt, puffing mightily.

  “Get Grandma and come to our house right away,” Joshua gasped.

  Benjamin’s head came up with a snap. “What’s wrong? Is your father back?”

  Joshua shook his head quickly. “No. Brother Joseph is at our house. He wants to talk to us. He wants all the family to come.”

  The relief washed over Benjamin. For an instant, he had had visions of Nathan being returned in a condition similar to the one he had been put in when he had previously gone to Jackson County. “The whole family?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Joshua said. “He wants Aunt Jessica and Uncle John, Uncle Matthew, Aunt Rebecca. He said everybody.”

  Matthew stuck his shovel in the ground and leaned on the handle, smiling at how his nephew gulped in air between sentences.

  Benjamin looked at Matthew. “Wonder what that’s all about.”

  “Hurry, Grandpa,” Joshua cried. “He’s already there.”

  “All right,” Benjamin said, holding up his hands in surrender, “tell him we’re coming.”

  As Joshua turned to go, Benjamin called after him. “Did Caroline leave, then, or not?”

  Joshua turned back, shaking his head. “Mama talked her into staying at least until tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Benjamin said, with more earnestness than he had intended. He had said his piece last night, and his feelings had not changed; but when he learned that Caroline was thinking of leaving again, he knew it was because of what he’d said, and he regretted every word he’d uttered.

  Benjamin had turned fifty-three in May. His hair was starting to thin out a little, and the gray was creeping up from the temples. When he did hard physical work, like that which they had been doing this morning, he could tell that somewhere down deep the reserves of strength were not the same as in the past. But it was all right. He was a grandfather now and was enjoying this stage of his life tremendously. He rejoiced in his family, and now Caroline and her children were part of that family. He smiled to himself as he thought about little Savannah. What a whip she was. Her and her grandpa.

  So today he would keep his feelings about his oldest son to himself. He would let Caroline know what her coming had meant to all of them. And if Joshua was fool enough to drive his second family away from him, then Benjamin would be ready to provide a haven for them just as he had done with Jessica and Rachel.

  “Pa?”

  Matthew’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up, a little sheepish. “You go get your mother and your sister. Tell Jessica and John as well. I’ll put away the tools.”

  * * *

  To put twenty people into the one room that constituted the main floor of Nathan and Lydia’s small log home was to fill it completely. Every chair, bench, and stool was either taken or saved for those still coming. The children were placed on the stairs or in the little remaining open floor space around the room. Lydia had asked Joseph if they should just let the younger children go outside and play, but Joseph had rejected that out of hand. This was to be a Steed family council, and that meant even the babies stayed so that no one would have to be absent to watch them.

  By the time Benjamin and Mary Ann arrived with Matthew and Rebecca and Jessica and her family, Joseph had already been introduced to Caroline and her children. When Benjamin came in, he saw that Joseph was visiting amiably with Caroline and Will. At the sight of Benjamin, Savannah, who sat on Olivia’s lap, squirmed free and toddled across to her grandpa. “Hello, little doll,” he said, picking her up.

  “Brother Benjamin, Sister Mary Ann,” Joseph boomed, coming across to shake their hands. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for taking you away from your work.”

  “No bother,” Benjamin said, not even trying to disguise his curiosity. “Is there a problem, Brother Joseph?”

  Joseph smiled, his blue eyes unfathomable. “Well, that depends on what you mean by a problem, Brother Ben.” He motioned to the chairs the family had reserved for them. “Please be seated.”

  As they sat down, Mary Ann gave her husband a questioning look. He raised one eyebrow. He was as
baffled as she was. He tucked Savannah comfortably under his arm, then turned to Joseph.

  Immediately the room quieted as the Prophet moved to the far end of the room where he could see everyone clearly. He let his gaze sweep over them slowly, which only deepened the hush. Finally he cleared his throat, and turned his eyes to Benjamin. “Brother Benjamin, I have a question for you.”

  “All right.”

  “When you die and go to the judgment bar and the book of life is opened, do you think it will be recorded anywhere that there were people on earth who prayed for you?”

  That caused a ripple of surprise. Benjamin was dumfounded. What kind of question was that? “Well,” he began tentatively. He glanced quickly at Mary Ann. “I suppose it will be recorded that Mary Ann prayed for me. Especially during that time in Palmyra, and when we first came to Kirtland.”

  Rebecca spoke out, just loud enough for her father to hear. “Mama wasn’t the only one.”

  Lydia was nodding too.

  Joseph smiled but kept his eyes on Benjamin. “Do you think that will work to your favor there?”

  Benjamin was reeling a little. He had no idea where this was supposed to be going. “I would like to think so.”

  “I would too,” Joseph said. Then instantly he changed tack. “Brother Ben, are you familiar with the parable of the unmerciful servant?” Before Benjamin could answer, the Prophet looked quickly around the room. “Now, while I may be speaking to your father and grandfather, this applies to every one here, so please listen carefully.”

  Benjamin’s mind was racing. “Isn’t that the one with the two men who both owed debts?”

  “The very one,” Joseph replied. “Now, I’ve always said that if you want to know what the parables mean, you need to ask what question or situation caused the Savior to give the parable. Does anyone recall what question was asked of Jesus that caused him to give this particular parable?”

  Mary Ann raised her hand, and when Joseph nodded at her she spoke quietly, not looking at her husband. “Peter asked how many times we are required to forgive someone for their trespasses against us.”

  Benjamin whirled on her, his face suddenly twisting. So this was what it was about. Mary Ann had gone to Joseph and reported on him.

  “That’s correct, Sister Steed,” Joseph said. Then his eyes went stern, even though his voice remained light. “Now, Ben, don’t you be looking at your wife that way. She has not said a single word to me. So get that thought out of your head.”

  As Benjamin dropped his eyes away from Mary Ann’s, Joseph half turned and looked at Lydia. He winked at her. It was true. Mary Ann had not said anything to Joseph. But Lydia had. She had sought him out earlier in the day and told him everything that had transpired the previous night.

  “Sister Lydia,” Joseph said, “could you briefly retell for the children the parable of the unmerciful servant?”

  “Yes.” She glanced quickly at Benjamin, not totally comfortable now with what was happening. “There were two men, each of whom owed a debt. The one owed ten thousand talents, the other a hundred pence.”

  “And how much is that, ten thousand talents?”

  Lydia was taken aback by the question. “I don’t know.”

  “A huge amount?”

  “Yes, very large, I would imagine.”

  “And a hundred pence?”

  “A pittance in comparison.”

  “Good. So what happened?”

  “The first man owed the debt to his master. He went to him and begged for time to repay the debt. But the master just forgave it. He didn’t have to pay any of it back.”

  “And then?”

  “The second man was a servant also, but he owed the hundred pence to the first servant, not to the master. When he begged for more time to pay it back, the first servant showed no mercy. He was angry and threw the man into prison.”

  Joseph turned to little Emily, who was watching him with wide eyes. “Emily, if you were the king who forgave the first man a great big debt, how would you feel when you found out that that same man would not forgive the other servant who owed him a little tiny debt?”

  Emily’s lip jutted out in a pout. “I would be very angry with him.”

  Joseph smiled and turned to the group. “This is a parable that even a child can understand,” he said evenly.

  Benjamin didn’t look up. He was concentrating on helping Savannah smooth out her dress. But he knew his face was burning.

  “Next question,” Joseph said, swinging back to let his eyes catch Benjamin again. “Not long ago there was a man who did some terrible things to his wife. He beat her up and drove her from his house. Then he did equally terrible things to his brother.”

  Benjamin could not stop it. His head came up slowly, and his eyes locked with Joseph’s. “In a way,” Joseph went on, his eyes filled with gentleness, “these were also crimes against the whole family. They hurt the parents. They hurt the brothers and sisters. They were, in fact, crimes that would injure his future family, people he did not even know at the time.”

  Joseph had turned to look at Caroline and her children. Caroline’s head was down, her hands rigid in her lap. The silence was total now. Even the smallest of the children sensed the tension in the room and watched Joseph carefully. Slowly now, Joseph swung back around to Benjamin. Those blue eyes with their terrible power were boring into him again. And now Benjamin was having trouble breathing.

  “While the acts of this man injured many, to which of the two family members does he owe the greatest debt?”

  Mary Ann was looking at Jessica. “To the wife whom he drove out,” she murmured, “and to the brother whom he whipped.”

  “That is correct,” Joseph said, never taking his eyes from Benjamin. “And if those two, to whom was owed the greatest debt, frankly forgave the man, what should that say about those to whom is owed a lesser debt?”

  Benjamin could not have answered even if his mind had willed it. Savannah looked up at her grandpa, then reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. He groped for it as if it were a rope thrown to him from the top of a precipice.

  The Prophet now let his eyes go to Lydia. They stopped there, and she dropped her gaze. They moved to Caroline. She couldn’t bear it for more than a moment either. One by one he moved around the room. Matthew. Rebecca. John Griffith. Mary Ann. Will. Every one who had been touched by Joshua’s actions and left wounded was included in that penetrating examination.

  For one last time Joseph turned back to Benjamin. “How many times in the past ten years has your good wife prayed for Joshua do you suppose?”

  “Hundreds,” Benjamin whispered.

  “And how many times have you prayed for your son, Benjamin?”

  His mouth opened, then shut again, and he looked away. He couldn’t bear Joseph’s gaze.

  Joseph’s voice was soft now and filled with infinite kindness. “And at the judgment bar, when the Savior asks why there are not any of your prayers recorded in Joshua’s behalf, what will you say, Benjamin? Will you tell the Man who suffered until he bled at every pore, will you tell the Man who had nails driven into his hands and feet and who hung from a cross so that all people might be saved—will you tell that Man that Joshua hurt you so terribly, he does not deserve your forgiveness?”

  Benjamin felt as though he were being lashed. Blindly, he put his arms around Savannah and held her close to him. Mary Ann was crying softly. She reached out her hand for him, but he recoiled from her touch. He felt like a leper.

  Joseph did not wait for Benjamin’s answer. Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a book from his pocket. “Lest we think forgiveness was only a New Testament injunction, may I remind you of the following.” He opened the book and turned the pages. When he had his place, he lifted the book up higher so that he could see his audience over the top of it. He began to read, clearly and with emphasis. “‘My disciples, in days of old, sought occasion against one another, and forgave not one another in their hearts.’” His voice ros
e sharply. “‘And for this evil they were afflicted, and sorely chastened: wherefore I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another, for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses, standeth condemned before the Lord, for there remaineth in him the greater sin.’”

  Now his voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Did you hear that, Benjamin?” he asked slowly. “Did you hear that, Sister Lydia? Caroline? John? All of you? Did you hear what the Lord said? There remains in us the greater sin.”

  He raised the book again and finished slowly. “‘I the Lord will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.’” He shut the book and moved slowly across the room. He dropped to one knee in front of Benjamin. “What I say to you, Benjamin Steed, I say to every one in this family who has been wronged by the actions of Joshua Steed. His crimes are terrible in the sight of God, but you have not been called to serve as his judge. Only God knows his heart. Only God can determine what is right to do in this case.” He reached out and took Benjamin by the shoulder. “Do you understand that, Benjamin Steed?”

  “Yes.” It came out as little more than a hoarse gasp.

  “Can you forgive your son for what he has done?”

  Benjamin’s eyes were like two holes torn out of his face. They stared wildly at Joseph, then they closed. Benjamin lowered his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

  Joseph stood, nodding slowly. “I understand. I do not accept that answer, but I understand what lies behind it.” Then his face grew very solemn. “Brother Benjamin, do you remember that day back in Kirtland when you came to my bedside and we talked about the destiny of the Church?”

  Benjamin looked up in surprise. “Yes. Clearly.”

  “Well,” Joseph said somberly, “that destiny still rolls on, and you, Benjamin Steed, have an important role to play in it. But as I told you then, no unhallowed hand can stop this work. This church—God’s work—will prevail!” His eyes softened, and his voice dropped to a gentle whisper. “But so long as your heart is filled with bitterness, Ben, you cannot effectively carry out your part in God’s great work. No unhallowed hand can stop this work.” He paused, then finished slowly. “And no unhallowed hand will help move it forward.”